LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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ADDRESS 



DELIVERED AT THE FUNERAL 



HON GEORGE PARTRIDGE, 



A SERMON 



PREACHED ON THE NEXT SABBATH 



BY BENJAMIN KENT. 



v.i 



ADDRESS 

DELIVERED AT THE FUNERAL 

OF THE 

HON. GEORGE PARTRIDGE, 

JULY 9, 1828; 

AND 

A SERMON 

PREACHED IN THE 

FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH 

IN DUXBURY 

ON THE NEXT SABBATH. 
B V BENJAMIN K K N T . 

I'niNTED BY KEQUEST. 

— QQO- 
BOSTON, 

PRESS OF ISAAC R. Br ITS AND CO. 

1828. 



E'502 



ADDRE8S 



MOURNERS AND FELLOW CHRISTIANS, 

Had the spirit which has left the venerated 
form beneath that pall, ever burned with a love of 
admiration and eulogy, like the spirits of those 
ancient heroes or civilians whose last prayer was 
that one might be found, worthy to celebrate their 
deeds, I should not dare to speak on tliis occasion. 
But that spirit was as humble as it was philanthro- 
pic, as unostentatious as it was gentle and dignified, 
and would, we believe, had it still a voice, warn us 
not to think much of virtues meekly borne, of ser- 
vices cheerfully rendered, of benefits wisely be- 
stowed ; and we have come together in justice to 
our own feelings, rather than to eulogise merit — to 
pay a simple, but sincere and affectionate tribute of 
esteem to great departed worth — and to join our 
prayers with theirs, who arc to bury one dear to 
them as a father, that he may not have been taken 
from us and his country, without leaving behind an 



influence that shall long continue to be felt. And 
this is at once our privilege and duty, when they 
die, who have acted prominent parts in an eventful 
age, who have been instruments of God in be- 
stowing signal blessings upon society, and have left 
an example that may keep alive the spirit of manly 
patriotism and christian benevolence, when they 
are themselves reaping its rich and high rewards. 
It is our privilege and duty to prove to the world, 
by speaking publicly of their characters, that wo 
will ever keep as a sacred deposit in our hearts, the 
names of those, who have dared much, and done 
much, for our prosperity and happiness — as a gene- 
rous people keeps in its national halls the trophies 
which at once contribute to its glory, and excite all 
who may witness them, to emulate the greatness by 
which they were gained. An admiration of moral 
worth — of eminent, but modest wisdom — of suc- 
cessful enter|)rise and industry, we oive both to the 
living and the dead ; and should be false to our- 
selves, as well as to our benefactors, did we not ex- 
press this admiration, when tlietj can no longer be 
disturbed by it. 

We have not, it should also be remembered, 
come up hither with the remains simply of an aged, 
an amiable, a beloved fellow-citizen, whose circle of 
action was narrow, but faithfully filled ; of a con- 
scientious Christian, whose intentions were upright, 
but of little importance, except to himself and those 
immediately about him : but of one who has honor- 
ed this, his native village, in the councils of oin- 



state and nation : who was among those great, and 
daring, and devoted patriots, thnt first put the foot 
of infant hberty on the neck of stern and strong 
oppression; of one who stood, side by side, with the 
Adamses, an Otis, a Hancock, a Bowdoin, a Haw- 
ley, and resolved with them upon an act,* the moral 
sublimity of which was never surpassed — an act 
which sent energy and fire through all the nerves 
of their country's wounded, but sleeping spirit ; of 
one who remained with his associates true to this 
resolve, until it was crowned with complete suc- 
cess ; of one who has faithfully, but with all the 
lenity which his trust admitted, executed your laws, 
been among your most ready and venerated coun- 
sellors, and, as we rejoice to remember, a pillar and 
a patron of this church ; of one, in fine, whom we 
should mention as the patriarch of an age and 
country, rather than as the citizen of a village, and 
who was among the last of those great lights, which 
have almost all sunk beneath an horizon, now so 
widely illuminated by other lights, that borrow 
still their brightness from the suns that have set : 
and we are sure that his character, if silently con- 
templated, will awaken in your hearts all that 
grateful, subdued, and solemn sensibility, which the 
deceased would wish to see expressed, should I fail, 
as I must, to do it anything like justice — that jus- 
tice, which requires a knowledge of his mind in 
its strength, whose last spark only, although that 
was a bright one, it was my privilege to witness. 

* The resolution adopted at llie secret caucus in Salem, 1774. 



The sketch of Hfe and character, therefore, which 
I shall be able to <.nvc on this occasion, must be a 
very imperfect and rapid one. 

Gi;oRfiE Partridge was born in Duxbury, on the 
8th of February, (Old Style) 1740. Of his child- 
hood we have no anecdotes, and we need none, to 
be convinced of his sincerity, when he said, near the 
close of life, that it was " remembered with plea- 
sure." He early commenced classical study with his 
own pastor, the Rev. Mr Turner, by whom he was 
fitted for college, and in 1762, graduated at Cam- 
bridge with a Danforth, Dana, Gerry, Belknap, and 
Spring.* Here, we have been assured, he knew 
the happy hours which they only know, who, to the 
talents of a scholar, add the character and temper 
of a beloved associate. Of his early rank and at- 
tainments he never spoke, and I shall not speak. 
The subsequent productions of his pen, the ability 
with which he discharged every trust, and the ea- 
gerness with which his society was sought by men 
of great intellect and learning, prove, however, that 
they were honorable and commanding. On leaving 
college, he immediately engaged as an instructor in 
Kingston, where he continued several years, emi- 
nent in his profession, and, uniting dignity with 
kindness, as they who were educated by him still 
testify, remarkable for the ease with which he at 

* Wliilo in college, Mr Partri(3<;e was master of a grammar scliool in \Vo- 
burn, Mass. and had for tno of his pupils Benjamin Tliompson, aflcrwards 
Cotint Rumford, and tlie late Hon. Loammi Baldwin, nho were very nearly 
of his age. 



once commanded the respect and won the aftection 
of his pupils. His unprofitable* but useful, employ- 
ment there was rehnquished, for the study of divini- 
ty, which had been from the beginning his cherished 
and favorite object. Soon after commencing this 
study with Mr Turner, he was afflicted with a dis- 
ease which blasted his prospects as a public speaker, 
and reluctantly yielded to the advice of his pastor 
and friends to turn his attention from the ministry. 
In 1770 he was employed in Duxbury as "the 
teacher of youth," and continued in schools till 
1773, when he commenced his public and ever 
honorable career, near the commencement of the 
revolution. 

At a town meeting, March 12th, 1773, he was 
chosen Moderator, and at the same meeting, 
chairman of a committee " to draw proper resolves 
or other remonstrances," say your old records, 
" against the violation of our charter rights and 
privileges." This remonstrance was intended as 
an answer to a pamphlet sent to the several towns 
of the colony by a committee of correspondence 
at Boston ; was drawn up by Mr Partridge ,t as he 
once admitted to me ; and, at a subsequent meeting, 
March 29th, was presented, and unanimously adopt- 
ed ; and, for its simplicity, beauty and patriotic ardor, 
deserves, as you will all acknowledge, a place with 

* Mr Partridge received in Kingston and Duxbury the liighest salary of 
an instructer, at that time — $8 per month ! 

t See Appendix. 



8 

the efibrts of the noblest muuls, whicli l)urncd and 
trembled in that dark day ! The firm, dctcnnined 
stand of the patriot was now taken: and in 177 1-, 
he promptly accepted the command of a company 
of " minute men" in this town, which was never 
in although ever ready and eager /or action, whose 
three first officers were all living till the last Sab- 
bath.* On the 19th of September, of this year, 
Mr Partridge was elected a represcntati\e to the 
General Court, and also chairman of a committee 
appointed " to join with a county committee, in or- 
der to act upon the political afiiiirs of the province." 
On the arrival of Gen. Gage with an army in '74, 
the General Court, of which Mr Partridge was a 
member, met in Boston, and was soon adjourned 
by proclamation to meet at Salem, " according to 
the instruction of the king of England." They 
did meet in Salem, and aflairs had come to so crit- 
ical an extremity, that the leading members of the 
assembly were induced to propose a secret caucus, 
and to determine there what should be done. At 
this caucus, which was held in the night at a little 
distance from the populous part of the town, Mr 
Partridge was present, and went forward promptly 
in the front line of those more than Roman Sena- 
tors who took that spirited, tremendous step which 
led to the independence, and it is not too much 
to say, to the present prosperity and glory of this 
nation ! Vou arc familiar with the events of that 



• The surviving olliccrs arc Major Alduii and Captain Andrew Sampson 
of Ihia town. 



solemn night, and the resolutions that were adopt- 
ed. They were, we may believe, suspected or an- 
ticipated by Gov. Gage, who, on the 24th of June, 
dissolved the assembly by proclamation. His sec- 
retary was repeatedly assured that no communica- 
tion could be immediately received from him ; the 
doors were closed, and the proclamation read on 
the stairs leading to the assembly room. After act- 
ing upon the resolutions previously adopted, as a 
public body, the assembly adjourned, and we find 
Mr Partridge chosen, October 3, 1774, a member of 
the provincial Coligress, which met at Concord on 
the second Tuesday of that month. He was again 
chosen to the General Court in 1775, and by this 
Court one of a committee to wait on Gen. Wash- 
ington, on his arrival at Cambridge. In '76 he was 
also appointed with three others, by the General 
Court, a committee to visit the Commander in 
chief in New York, and obtain his advice as to the 
term for which the new quota of troops from Mas- 
sacliusetts should be enlisted, and the bounty they 
should receive. At the request of Gen. Washing- 
ton, Mr Partridge proceeded directly on to the na- 
tional or general Congress, then sitting at Philadel- 
phia, and returning to him with the result of his in- 
terview, witnessed, as we have heard him say, one 
of the rare instances in which tliat great man e.x- 
pressed deep and agonized emotion, at the advice 
he received.* In 1777, he immediately succeeded 

"Mr Partridge and the other members of the committee had been instruct- 
ed by the General Court of Massachusetts to raise men for one year. Ha 



10 

Gen. Warren ;is Sherin'of the county of Plyinouth, 
and in '81 was sent a delegate to Congress, under 
the old Confederation, being at his death, as is 
said, the last surviving member of that Congress, ex- 
cepting the venerable Charles Carroll of Maryland. 
In consequence of some doubt which he entertain- 
ed and expressed as to the propriety of his holding 
a SherifTs commission and being a delegate to Con- 
gress at the same time, Gov. Hancock sent a mes- 
sage to the house of Representatives asking their 
advice on the subject, and the decision being left 
discretionary with him, in ITiJf he renewed his 
commission of Sheriff and directed him to continue 
in Congress. After his first session, he remained 
there constantly to the close of the revolution, was 
on several important committees, as he had been 
in his own state, and was present at Annaj)olis when 
the thrilling intelligence came that our independ- 
ence was acknowledged ; that the articles of peace, 
which went beyond the fondest hopes of all, were 
signed ; that the war was at an end ! He also wit- 
nessed in '83, what it must have been worth a life 
of hazard and toil to witness, the dignified, beloved 
and venerated Washington give "into the hands of 
those from whom ho had received it " that commis- 

wasadvisetl by Conijrcss to propose first to the Comnidnderinchiefa compli- 
ance witli this instruction, but in case it should be disapproved by him, to en- 
list men for " three years or during the war." Mr Partridge relumed, and with 
his accustomed caution, mentioned the first advice, without alluding to the 
second, — " on w hich Gen. Washington," said he, " raising his eyes to heaven 
and clasping his hands, exclaimed — ' My God, Sir, are you going to give me 
an army to last hut one year ! I cannot consent to be Commander in chief 
of such an army ! ' " Mr Partridge then mentioned the second adrice, and 
the men icere raised for " three yoarsor during the war." 



11 

% 

sion of power, under which he had carried up a na- 
tion from the depths of darkness and wo, to the bright 
summit of joy, and hberty, and peace ! In '84 Mr 
Partridge was again sent a delegate to Congress ; 
and in '87 was chosen to represent this town in a con- 
vention held in Boston, January, 1788; and also a 
Representative to Congress. In '90 he was again 
elected, for two years from the March following. 
In 1792 he was chosen one of the electors of Pres- 
ident and Vice President of the United States, and 
has since been twice a member of our State Le- 
gislature, and constantly attended to the duties of 
his office, as Sheriff of this county, until 1811, 
when his commission was withdrawn, and after be- 
ing restored to him in 1812, he resigned it in the 
course of that year. 

It should be observed, that while engaged in state 
and national concerns, Mr Partridge never forgot 
his beloved native town — took a deep interest in all 
its transactions, civil and religious, and was ready 
to give his aid as well as approbation to every mea- 
sure of public utility. In 1798, we find, indeed, this 
modern Cincinnatus coming down, as it were, from 
the halls of Congress, to be in his own village, for 
two years, a faithfid " surveyor of highways." For 
som.e time past his infirmities, which were, however, 
more sensibly felt by himself than perceived by 
others, induced him to decline taking any prominent 
part in the places where he had exerted so uniform 
and efficient an influenro, and where, we believe 
you will all cheerfully acknowledge, he had exerted 
it well. Up to the moment of, and through his last 



12 

illnoss, he never lost that kind ;ind cahn equanimity 
whicli is the crown ul" a ucll-rornicd, consistent, 
dignified character. And though old age had wrink- 
led his brow, it could not take from it the benignant 
smile ; although it had partially dimmed his eye, it 
could not destroy his cheerfulness of thought and 
warmth of aifcction ; although it had not left un- 
touched his manly form, it did not shatter or bring 
it down — a form that, to the last, told you of his 
temperance, his well-disciplined passions, his con- 
scious rectitude ; and, after pronouncing once more 
a blessing upon the day of Independence, upon his 
country, and the church, assuring those about him 
that his work was finished, that he was satisfied 
with himself, with his friends, with the world, he 
died on the morning of the 7th inst. in the 89th 
year of his age, as he had lived, carrying, we believe, 
upward with him, the happiness of men in his strong 
desire ; the reign of truth, of freedom and virtue, in 
his unuttercd prayer ; and the love of God and pu- 
rity, as his hope of a blessed immortality. 

Such is a rapid sketch of his life ; many im- 
portant and interesting particulars of which, we 
know, must have been omitted. There is, however, 
enough in it to show us the humble Christian, and 
honored citizen ; the man who has acted a glorious 
part in the most eventful age of our country. 

And now, my friends, it will not be difiicult to 
fix upon the most striking traits in a character upon 
which so much may be said, although I have neither 
time nor power to do them justice. I am reminded 



13 

by one who knew and loved him well, that the de- 
ceased always made great and good men his models 
— that he copied the best marks from the most em- 
inent exemplars, sifted the opinions of the most 
celebrated scholars, and admired those only who 
united practical wisdom and judgment with moral 
worth. His own thoughts and principles, we all 
know, were too elevated to give him a close sympa- 
thy, or indeed any sympathy, with those who moved 
in a low and heavy atmosphfjrc. He could never 
descend to speak, even in terms of severity, of the 
malignant mind and vulgar character. The friends 
he loved, were kindly and judiciously praised ; the 
enemies he had to encounter were passed over in 
silence. He could not revile, and it was only by his 
look of wonder, that you knew he ever despised. 
From such a foundation we should expect to see 
the spirit of patriotism rising to no ordinary height ; 
and for this Mr Partridge has been justly revered 
by all who know how to estimate true greatness. 
It did not, indeed, in him ever dazzle, but it had 
always purity and power ; was never quenched, 
from the moment that a feeling of tyranny struck 
it into existence, until it went out with his last 
breath. He spoke and thought oi' his country ; he 
searched to discover what bearing popular or un- 
popular acts would have on the great interests of 
the community ; he looked forward to a distant day, 
and the slow but probable influence of present mea- 
sures, upon future generations. He did not care 
for names a.ndparties, but for principles and the good 



14 

of commonwealths. And when necessity spurred, 
he did not himself shrink from peril — was even 
greatly brave where the object might be worth the 
risk. To be convinced of this, we need only re- 
vert for a moment to the time which has been 
briefly noticed, when he joined with others in secret 
conclave at Salem, to determine upon the course 
to be adopted before the Revolution commenced. 
Of this scene I shall speak, as nearly as I may re- 
member, in his own words ; and would that I could 
catch also the eloquence of his manner — ^^a man- 
ner that has ever thrilled the stranger, and will be 
remembered by us, should we live to his own great 
age! 

" Gen. Gage" — I almost hear him say — " Gen. 
Gage had come over with his troops and procla- 
mations to frighten us rebels into submission ! 
We soon had his mandate, dissolving the Court and 
directing us to meet at Salem, in order, as he said, 
to 'remove us from the baneful influences — the 
baneful influences — of Boston I' So we met there. 
And in a short time one began to ask another, 
'What can we do? The worst iniist come to the 
worst ! ' Why, we will first have a caucus, and 
see what can be done. Then, when we met a mem- 
ber in whose eye we saw one true to the cause, wo 
touched him on the shoulder — 'Be silent — meet 
with us to night — at such an hour — in such a place — 
and bring your man.'' All were prompt to the hour. 
The meeting was full. And, after calling to order, 
and stating the object of the meeting, the great 



15 

question was put — ' Shall we submit to CJicat Bri- 
tiaii and make the best terms in our power, or shall 
we resist her encroachments to the point of the 
sword?' There was a pause. We looked at 
each other ! And then the unanimous answer was 
given — ' We will resist her encroachments to the 
point of the sword ! ' Now came the question — 
' What shall be done ? — what shall be done ! The 
gulph is passed ! ' ' We will have a Congress at 
Concord. W^e will send letters to all the colonies, 
and urge theni to send delegates, to meet at Phila- 
delphia. We will have committees o( safety. 
We will take care of our arms. We will go to our 

homes and wake every one that sleeps ! ' " They 

did resist to the point of the sword. They did 
summon a Congress. They did rouse every one 
that slept. And God blessed their " heroic, manly 
virtue," and gave both them and us, as its fruit, " that 
fair, that amiable inheritance, Liberty, civil and 
sacred ! " For, I hear as it were again the same 
voice ; less deep and solemn, indeed, but no less 
thrilling — 

" In '83, news came to us at Annapolis, that there 
was peace — that there loas peace! We were all 
amazed — delighted ! It went like lightning through 
the hall, and through our hearts I It was shouted in 
the streets — it was thundered from the cannon. — 
There was a rushing — a congratulating — a re- 
joicing on every side ! And then, by and bye, came 
Washington — Washington — to resign his com- 
mission. We determined it should be done in pub- 



16 

lie audience. At an appointed hour the members 
were all in their scats ; the gallery and floor were 
filled — and, after coming in, \Vashington ap- 
proached the table and said — ' Having discharged, 
according to my best ability, the high trust commit- 
ted to me, I resign my commission into the hands 
of those from whom I received it.' Yes, — yes — 
and that was a bright day ! It was my happy day ! 
We had trembled — we had struggled — we had 
fought — we had bled — and yet, at last, obtained all 
that we asked, and more than we asked. So we 
had our time, and it ended." It ended ! — nobly, 
gloriously ended — and who, oh, who will doubt, 
that this was such a patriot as would have honored 
any age ? 

The patriotism of Mr Partridge, however, was not 
more remarkable than his prudence and forecast. 
This prudence characterized everything he said 
and did, with reference both to the public and his 
own private interests. He never, perhaps, acted 
rashly or suddenly ; but looked for firm looting be- 
fore he took a step, and made it a constant rule of 
conduct, not to tear down for the pleasure of build- 
ing up — not to take great leaps without seeing 
where he might be carried. And this surely is a 
most valuable talent or habit — the talent of one 
who is too wise to waste either labor or fortune — of 
one who does not uselessly scatter his treasures be- 
cause he may be rich, or cease from care and indus- 
try, because ho may have no want. You may say, 
indeed, that he was sometimes overcautious — car- 



17 

ried his prudence to a fault, that he was pomolimes 
unwilhug to go cither rapi<lly or far enough to se- 
cure your highest interests. But was this more than 
the dictate of sound discretion and wisdom — the 
counsel of a sage, who would restrain only rashness 
and impetuosity, and save you from regret ? When 
convicted of error, who was more ready than Mr 
Partridge to acknowledge error — nay more, to re- 
pair its consequences ? When you were in difficul- 
ty, even against his counsel, who was more prompt 
or discreet in the measures he ad\ised, to relieve 
you from it ? You may say, also, that he was ha- 
bitually too nice, too sparing, too accurate. But 
was he ever unjust ? Did he ever wrong the 
poor, or defraud the rich ! " No, no, no ! " I 
hear it whispered by a hundred lips! W'as he not 
liberal ? Let the cheerfulness with which he bore 
his share of your fmancial burdens — the readiness 
with which he promoted worthy public objects — the 
delight with which, though childless, he has seen 
your children jirovided with ample means of in- 
struction — the humility with \vhich he has made 
your church bequests — let these, these all answer. 
Had he not benevolence ? Who ever saw that man 
give an insect a needless pang ? — wound the feel- 
ings of any one in triumph, or turn away from suf- 
fering where he could relieve it? In what instance 
did he, when clothed witii power and |)laced in situa- 
tions which might someti:ncs, often, make it his 
duty to seem, at least, severe, give evidence of cru- 
elty, or indifference to the misfortunes of another ? 
3 



18 

When did he not rather cause the least alarm, and 
inflict the mildest penalty which the law placed at 
his disposal ? Your just recollections, surely, will 
testify that iMr Partridge had benevolence — and 
had too its noblest, its genuine spirit ; that benevo- 
lence which acted unseen — which blinded even 
want, before it took away its anguish. His own, 
even his own left hand knew not what his right 
hand did ! 

To great prudence and forecast he added, you will 
not doubt, the most admirable firmness. I lis opinion 
was his own — deliberately and cautiously formed ; 
but when formed, invincible except by certain proof. 
His resolutions w ere taken from among the best that 
presented themselves, on every occasion. But you 
could not easily change them. Neither sophistry 
nor apparent danger could make him swerve, after 
he had pronounced his decision, and taken his 
stand. When others were trembling, he was steady 
and collected ; when others were inflamed, he rose 
up calm, and gentle, and just, and dignified ; when 
others saw nothing but darkness, he showed them 
some guiding, cheering star ; was as ready to en- 
courage the desponding as to restrain the rash, and 
assured those around him always, that acting upon 
just principles, and moving on with a steady aim, 
they had nothing to fear ; for he had himself seen 
too dark a night and come to too bright a morning 
to believe that they who add firmness to principle 
and wisdom will not come out happy at last. 

There is one more trait on which we can, and 



]9 

ever should delight to remark — and that is, the 
religions character of the deceased. On this deep 
and sure foundation his whole social, intellectual 
and moral fabric was raised. 7 here, my friends, 
sleeps a Christian — a good man indeed ! A Christ- 
ian — not made so by depth of research, to learn 
all the terms and subtiltics of theology, not by 
his love of conflict and triumph on questions of faith, 
not by his stern interference with the views of a 
brother; but by all that simphcity, gentleness, 
meekness, temperance, and charity, which give love- 
hness to the Christian name, and life to the Christ- 
ian spirit. Controversy and discord had nothing 
agreeable to his taste. You heard him nowhere 
reviling moral goodness, nowhere sneering at 
conscientious piety, nowhere condemning honest 
conviction. He believed, truly believed in a God 
of love and righteousness ; he revered, truly re- 
vered, a Saviour of mercy and truth ; he lived, con- 
scientiously lived for a heaven of light and purity. 
He encouraged no one to trust to professions and 
creeds, he doomed no one to the abysses of wo ; but 
was here at the calm and holy hour of worship, 
before his Lord's table at your solemn and grateful 
communions, and with you promptly at every call of 
the church-bell. But he is gone ; and the blessing, 
the fervent blessing of our souls goes with him ! 
And now, we will think of him, when the names of 
Washington, of Franklin, of Hancock, of Adams, 
of Jefferson are mentioned, to rouse us to patriotism 
or to excite us to virtue ; for, if ever one did, his cha- 



20 

ractcr strikinjfl) rescRibled thai ol I he first on this 
illustrious catalogue. In Mr Partridge we saw the 
patriotism, the prudence, the forecast, the hrmness, 
the piety of that great man, whose character is the 
treasure of nations, and at whose name we almost 
bow the head in homage ! 

I have, however, already detained you too long. 
But have 1 said too much? And what still remains? 
You may ask, had the eulogized no faults ? We 
answer, — Mr Partridge was a man, he felt as a 
man, but he died, at least apparently, he died, a 
Christian, sainted at the last ! If owe doubt this, if 
one feel that we have foolishly spoken — let him go 
back in generous, but just thought to the time when 
the deceased was traversing alone from this, to a 
distant capital, a country full of dangers, ponder- 
ing the ways of God, and praying for the rescue of 
his country. Let him bring up the venerable form 
of him, who has so often stood here in mild and 
graceful dignity, to watch for the welfare of his 
neighborhood. Let him think of what has been 
done by the hands that are now paralyzed, of 
what has been said by the li{)s that are now sealed, 
of what has been felt by the heart that has ceased to 
beat ; and he will acknowledge that we should all 
have reason indeed to weep, if one, even one were 
found, who would check before his tomb the tear 
of sorrow and veneration. 



APPENDIX. 



To the Committee of Comspondence of the toitn of Boston. 

Gentlemen, 

We, the Freeholders and other inhabitants of Duxbuvy, in town- 
meeting, legally assembled, upon due examination of the contents of a pam- 
phlet from the town of Boston, directed to be laid before us, are truly of 
opinion, that the rights of the people are therein well staled, and that the 
list of infringements and violations is just : which gives us the distressing and 
very alarming apprehension, that a plan is laid and prosecuted with unrelent- 
ing rigor, which will, if thoroughly completed, reduce the colonies, and this 
province in particular to a state of vassalage and desperation. It would give 
us uneasiness, gentlemen, should you imagine from our so long neglecting 
an answer, that we arc in any degree careless, idle spectators of the calami- 
ties and oppressions under which this province groans. We inherit the very 
spot of soil, cultivated by some of the first comers to New England ; aud 
though we pretend not that we inherit their virtues also in perfection, yet 
hope we possess at least some remains of that christian, heroic virtue, aud 
manly sense of Liberty, in the exercise of which, they, in the face of every 
danger, emigrated from their native land to this then howling wilderness, 
to escape the iron yoke of oppression, and to transmit to posterity (hat fair, 
that amiable inheritance. Liberty, civil and sacred : and give us leave to add 
that wc esteem it not only a detracting from tlie virtue of their design, but 
an affront to their natural understanding, should we adopt the sentiments 
lately exhiliited to the public, viz : that our worthy ancestors, when they first 
took possession of this country, when they necessarily lost a voice in the 
British Legislature, consented, at least tacitly, to be subject to the unlimited 
control and jurisdiction, of that very government, the merciless oppression 
of which was intolerable by them, even when they had a voice in that legis- 
lature. We glory in a legal, loyal subjection to our sovereign, but when 
wc see the right to dispose of our property claimed, and actually exercised 
by a legislature, a thousand leagues oif, and in which wc have no voice ; 
and ships and troops poured in upon us to support the growing or rather the 
overgrown power of crown-officers in exercising the same power ; the 
newer of our Vice-admiralty courts enlarged beyond due bounds; o\ir 



22 

principal fortress, built and maintained by us for our common defeaco against 
a foreign enemy, taken out of our liands as though we were not wortliy to 
be trusted, and conimitled into the hands of the standing army ; our Gover- 
nor forbid signing any bill of our assembly, subjecting a certain number of 
crown-officers to pay any proportion of the charge of the government they 
live under; our (Jovernor's usual dependence upon the people unnaturally 
and "iconsci'.viionally cut off; the Judges of our superior courts, on whose 
determination life and property so much depend, made, to the great danger 
of the people, dependant solely on the crown, and many things of a like na- 
ture take place : shall it then be deemed disloyalty or even faction to com- 
plain ; By no means. We esteem it a virtue and a duly which people of 
every rank owe to themselves and posterity to use their utmost exertions in 
all reasonable ways, so far as their influence may extend, to oppose tyranny 
in all its forms, and to extricate themselves from every dangerous innovation ; 
and it gives us the greatest pleasure to see so much unity of sentiment in 
the seveitil towns of this province ; and that there is and will soon appear 
the same unanimity in the several colonies on the continent ; and we look upon 
ourselves peculiarly obliged to the town of Boston for their care and dili- 
gence in this day of darkness and danger, and shall be ever ready to coope- 
rate with them, and our other brethren through the province in every reason- 
able and constitutional measure for the vindication of our wounded Hberties, 
and restoration of the same to their former estate. Imploring the divine 
benediction on our honest endeavors to maintain and promote constitutional 
liberties in our land, and hoping to see the time when liberty shall again 
flourish here, and harmony and concord betwixt Great Britian and the colo- 
nies be restored and confirmed. 



SERMON. 



PROVERBS, X. 23. 

THE HOPE OF THE RIGHTEOUS SHALL BE GLADNESS. 

Every one who is capable of distinguishing 
between wisdom and folly, between pleasure and 
pain, must, it should seem, be anxious to find at last 
this issue of earthly hope — this consequence and 
reward of present righteousness. Every one Vt^ho 
believes that there is an hour of death, a God of 
spotless purity, an eternity of conscious being, will 
think of the sensations of those who must mourn at 
last, with sorrow ; and also of the closing scene in 
their life, whose last look upon a receding world 
was a look of gladness, with inexpressible delight, 
and a fervent prayer that his own may be like it. 

I would therefore invite your attention this morn- 
ing to the train of thought naturally suggested by 
the words I have read — The hope of the righteous 
shall be gladness. 

With the nature of Iiope, we are all fomiliar. 
his the expectation of anything that may be deem- 



24 

ed essential to our liapi>iness, which is founded up- 
on our past experience, or a promise that deserves 
our confidence. It is nearly synonymous with faith ; 
that is, it is a desire of something future which may 
possibly, and will probably be obtained. ^Ve have 
certain lnwicledae only of the present or past ; we 
hope for what is consistent with this knowledge, or 
what we are strongly assured will be realized at a 
more or less distant day : and the strength of this 
hope must be proportionate to the proi)a])ilities there 
are that our desire will not be disappointed. It 
rests therefore, upon evidence, and must be more 
or less sanguine, according to the weight of this 
evidence. To hope for what is unnatural, incon- 
sistent with our present experience, or the word of 
God, is folly. To expect that gladness will ever be 
the consequence or result of a course of conduct 
which uniformly tends to Sinef, is [)rcsumption. 
To believe, if we find in a hundred succeeding in- 
stances, that a life of sin is followed by a death of 
sorrow, and a life of virtue is necessary to give per- 
fect confidence, resignation and peace at the close 
of this state of trust and discipline — to believe, I say, 
that a similar life will not be attended with a simi- 
lar death, is madness. To imagine that the Su- 
preme Being has declared certain dispositions and 
a certain course of conduct essential to happiness 
and His approbation, which are not so essential, is, 
it seems to me, impiety. We are only assured that 
Gladness shall result from righteousness ; that the 
bright anticipations by which the good are anima- 



25 

ted and sustained, shall be realized ; while " the 
expectation of the wicked," as is declared in the 
same verse with the text, " shall perish." And this 
we may believe — not because we wish it to prove 
true. By no means. Not because we desire that 
one intelligent soul may ever feel the touch of an- 
guish — but because it is consistent with our present 
experience, with the great, immutable principles 
which we every moment see illustrated and en- 
forced in the divine government, and with right 
reasoning. The language of plain matters of fact 
before us, of the light of inspiration within us, and 
of the instructions of God about us, seems at least, 
to be — "If you would be happy, be holy; if you 
would die in peace, live in purity ; if you would be 
cheered at last by an all-sustaining, all-quickening 
hope, take care that it be the hope of the right- 
eous." 

And who, the question immediately occurs, who 
arc the righteous ? I lay the foundation of their 
character early and broad and deep ; and on this 
foundation I see a superstructure rising, harmonious 
in all its proportions, uniform in all its materials, 
consistent in all its ornaments ; to which you need 
add nothing to be convinced that it was begun and 
has been finished under a Divine eye, and from 
\vhich you can take nothing without marring, at 
once, its simplicity and its beauty. I do not look 
at the third, or fourth story of man's moral edi- 
fice, to see whether it is perfect, and will stand 
when the rains descend, and the floods come, and 
the winds blow ; but 1 cast my eye from the base to 
4 



26 

the summit, and expect to find neither defective ma- 
terials and workmanship, nor rents and scams, in the 
front or rear. 1 go back to childhood, to the first 
moment of our being able to distinguish between 
good and evil, right and wrong ; and see here the 
opening mind bent to venerate principle and to fear 
God. I suppose that the first light, the first influence 
which falls upon this mind, is a holy light, a salu- 
tary influence ; that it is taught to love and be hap- 
py in goodness, to abhor and tremble at the conse- 
quences of evil. And, finding thus at the bottom, 
a foundation which can never be moved ; disi)osi- 
tions called forth by the utmost care, and wisdom, 
and perseverance, which are favorable both to 
moral and intellectual improvement ; principles 
established, I'rom which the mind is assured that it 
can no more swerve, than from its destiny ; I sup- 
pose, that the education for usefulness and honor 
begins, that the child is convinced, at the outset, 
that it was designed only /or, and may certainly at- 
tain to, usefulness and honor, piety and heaven, if it 
devotedly pursues right, and turns, as at an angel of 
death, from lorong. These primary, original con- 
victions, it seems to me, are necessary to secure 
fidelity in the improvement of time, the formation 
of habit, and the strengthening, or rather creation 
of inclinations, which will qualify the child for the 
more difllcult and responsible trusts of the man. 
The basis of righteousness must thus be laid deep, 
and with what the most narrow understanding per- 
ceives to be strong and beautiful materials, before 
any power has placed there a broken, or a rolling 



./ 



27 

stone. And if so laid, if the mind has been en- 
lightened and enlarged by practical knowledge, and 
the conscience has been rendered quick and sensi- 
tive by an invincible habit of truth, justice, gene- 
rosity, and obedience to religious principle, we need 
not fear for the entrance which its possessor will 
make upon the stage of action and manhood ; he 
is ready for the most laborious employments, and 
sacred relations and high trusts ; he will come for- 
ward with a firm step, and the assurance that he 
was born only for a sphere which the slightest de- 
parture from rectitude would dishonor, and will 
feel that he has no option left, even when right 
and wrong are put within his power. 

I now suppose that with an enlightened mind, 
industrious habits, a veneration of principle, he 
carries this principle into everything which engages 
his attention and calls for his decision ; that he 
feels an obligation to be faithful, upright, holy even, 
as strong as heaven can make it. I suppose that 
his soul is all feeling, all alive and awake, with re- 
ference to his obligations in a private capacity or 
relation ; that he asks repeatedly the questions. 
What is my duty to myself; to that immortal nature 
which God has given me ; to a mind that is gifted 
with almost unlimited powers, a soul that burns 
and soars with almost angelic affections? Jiow 
can I descend to a vice that may ever quench this 
mind, or plant a worm in this soul ? Why should 
I be a monster or a sloth on earth, that 1 may be a 
moth or a rust that would corrupt in heaven ' I 
suppose, also, that he is faithful in the circle of his 



28 

friends ; that he remembers those who are dead, 
and who once bore him in the arms of parental 
love, and prayed that his young smile might be only 
a pledge of future manly generosity and virtue ; who 
watched over his sleeping innocence, and " sought 
of the Lord thrice," that he might thus ever sleep 
to ignominy and guilt. I suppose that he has not 
merely human sensibility when he looks upon those 
around him, and the thought lightens across his 
mind, that they must be borne up with him, if he 
seeks the honors of virtue and is ever found in the 
])aths of wisdom, or sink in all their innocence and 
purity, sink with him, if he dares to descend to 
a deed of sin — but more, much more than this ; 
that he is " tender of every social right ; " that he 
would not plant a thorn, even in a bosom where 
thorns might flourish, or fix a stain upon a charac- 
ter which has little but stains. I suppose him to be 
incapable of forgetting that the treasures which God 
has given him in trust, and committed to his protec- 
tion, are never to be tarnished, and that it should be 
his supreme delight, to see his own eminent virtues 
reflected from every object near him ; that he pro- 
vides for the instruction of forming minds, the sup- 
port of all who may depend upon him, in the cora- 
mcncemcnt of their career ; is just to the claims 
which their all-searching Creator has given them 
upon his thoughts and aflections, and will ever ex- 
hibit the providence, and set the example, and dif- 
fuse the happiness, which give value to a friend and 
constitute the benefactor. 

In his public capacity, that is, a^s a citizen, a 



29 

member of society, I suppose also that he is equal- 
ly conscientious, faithful, blameless. That he does 
not live within himself, and for himself alone, but 
takes a vital interest in whatever may be interesting 
to the body politic of which he is an atom ; is ready 
to promote in all reasonable ways and by all honor- 
able means, the general welfare, which bears along 
his own welfare in its mass. In this sense, every 
man should consider himself a public man ; one 
that lays hold, with others, of the great chain 
which raises or brings down the prosperity, virtue 
and glory of the world ; or, at least, of the com- 
monwealth in which he resides. If an individual 
bo even eminently industrious, pious or devout in 
his own cloister, but indifferent to the piety and 
happiness that may exist without it, his piety is, at 
best, 5c//-righteousness. He is neither the man we 
want in times of moral corruption or civil danger ; 
nor capable of those liberal and expanded views, 
which give goodness and ability much of their 
value. The truly righteous man will always act 
upon the presumption, that he is, to a certain ex- 
tent, accountable for the character and condition 
of others, as well as for his own ; that he has means 
of effecting good, the fruits of which will come to 
him only in the form of that elevated moral influ- 
ence which attends all benevolent efforts to do 
good ; and that his talents were as directly intended 
to exert a favorable influence on other beings, as the 
music and light and sublimity of nature were de- 
signed to charm and refresh his own senses. He 
will not, therefore, be wholly or even chiefly absorbed 



30 

by liis own speculations and interests, but will ask 
what clVccts his rules of conduct would have, if gen- 
erally adopted; what the condition of society would 
be, if his example were in all points strictly followed ; 
and whither his maxims and habits would lead, if 
universally prevalent, lie will not dread iniquity 
more, because it must at last find him out, and fix 
its nettling, poisoned fangs upon the heartstrings of 
his own fame .and peace, than because it will act 
upon other minds, and be urged as an excuse for 
other monsters, to leave the way of rectitude, " re- 
nounce God, and die." lie will be disposed to for- 
ward enterprises that may be clearly advantageous 
to men, if the wheels put in motion do not bring 
the first, or even any profits directly into his own 
treasury, and share cheerfully all burdens proj)or- 
tionate to his own strength. He will be ready and 
prompt at posts of danger and difficulty when no 
other can take or fill them so well ; have too much 
patriotism to be satisfied with rejoicing that patri- 
ots are winning for him with toil and risk those 
privileges without which he could not endure exist- 
ence, while he is himself resting in indolence ; and 
stand, as with a flaming sword, by those rights, civil 
and sacred, which arc worthy the temper of such 
a sword, and the nerve of the arm that wields it. 
He will be ready to render counsel, to inspire cour- 
age, to hazard ease and safety, in times which call 
for invincible resolution and self-devotedness, in 
order to stem a desolating torrent of poi)ular feel- 
ing, or to bear, for the good of mankind, a mass 
of popular odium. He will be vigilant when the 



31 

thouirhticss sleep, brave when the timid cower, 
steady when the impetuous rush on, and firm wlicn 
the weak tremble. He will endeavor to send an 
influence through the whole body of the communi- 
ty, which cannot be withdrawn without producing a 
tlu-ob in the bosom of every one that belongs to it. 
He will, in fine, join himself to those who are vigi- 
lant and determined in their support of the religious 
and civil institutions, which are the only towers and 
fortresses that oflcr safety in an age of moral cor- 
ruption; the only refuge of human virtue and hap- 
piness, when the storm of passion is at its height ; 
and thus be found in the world, as well as in the 
church, with all his christian armor about him — 
ready to meet temptation when it rises in his own 
path, or to go out of this path for the salvation of 
others who have fallen into its power; and also 
ready to prove, that while he wears the armor, he 
feels the responsibleness of one, who knows the 
will of God, and hears within the voice that pro- 
nounces a wo upon such as know, but refuse or are 
afraid to do it ; until his day is ended, until his con- 
flict or work is finished. This is what I call the 
character of the righteous ; whose hope, it is de- 
clared, " shall be gladness." 

It must be so. ^Ve would neither fear nor ex- 
pect any other issue. For suppose him to be about 
finishing his work in youth ; to be cut down in the 
flower and freshness of his age. AVhat has he to 
fear ? What has he to desire ? The ])leasant light 
of heaven is indeed to be darkened. The kind and 
devoted associates, that have administered to his 



32 

joyp, and been companions in his pvirsuits, arc to 
bo Icl't bcliiiid. Tiiu grave is unlbldiiig its massy 
doors to take a " new treasure to its trust ; " but 
" he remembers his chihlhood with pleasure ; " the 
prayers he has hsped come down now with their 
divine blessings and odors ; he has had the love 
and the (bar ol' God in his heart, it passes j)uritied 
into his spirit ; there is not a lie upon his con- 
science, a sear of ingratitude upon his memory, 
an assurance of \vickedncss or passion to stir up 
his terrors ; and the darkened sun will set only to 
be succeeded by a brighter, the sun of righteous- 
ness, \vliich has healing as well as light in his beams ; 
the lost associates will be exchanged only for pure 
kindred spirits, that rejoice in eternal youth ; the 
gates of the grave will open and close, only to con- 
ceal from mortal eyes what lies beyond the gates 
of heaven, when they are parted for liis entrance ! 
Though young, he has done what he could do ; 
though smitten when the pulses are quick, and 
prospects arc bright, and aflbctions are warm, he 
has lived to a great, to a good age, for he has al- 
ways lived well. It is his privilege to die. 

Suppose him again, to be arrested in manhood ; 
while actively employed in business, and with every- 
thing around him to bless. What a crowd of re- 
collections will come up to cheer and solace the de- 
parting spirit! Here, lie may say, 1 had an op- 
portunity to riot in passion ; to carry others down 
with me from their high moral elevation, to the 
depths or labyrinths of corruption. But I for- 
bore, — nay, warned them of their peril. There 1 



33 

was tempted to blind the eye of conscience with 
a veil worn gracefully by the world ; but brushed 
away even the thin and subtle mist that naturally 
dinuiied its vision, and followed where it led. 
Here I had the choice of immediate gratification 
or future self-respect, and acted for the hour which 
has now come with its high rewards. There I felt 
a struggle between principle and inclination — the 
persuasion of false friends, and my own decided 
judgment, but adhered to the latter ; and now, I am 
sure that those friends have come, or will come 
to a catastrophe that must make the soul tremble. 
Here I have saved a brother from destruction by 
entreaties and counsel, and there I have encour- 
aged one to press forward in his career until he has 
attained to the summit of virtue and honor. Here 
I was urged by the wiles of the sophist, to doubt 
the soul's existence, the providence of God, the 
reality of religion, my interest in eternity ; and 
now the soul, stirring within me, asserts its immor- 
tality ; the power of God, the arm of God is strong, 
bearing me up, over the chasm which separates the 
living from the dead. Religion comes like the 
angel ministering to my Redeemer in his hour of 
agony, and eternity stretches on — stretches on — 
beyond my wearied thought ! There, I was told, 
that heaven was a phantom ; that my sleep must 
be unending ; that death must annihilate ; that 
sin and holiness must cease, when the dust min- 
gles with the dust ; but I remembered the promise, 
" Because I live, ye shall live also ; " and now 
I am holding, grasping upon the fost moments of 



time — worlds, worlds should not quench the linlit 
that breaks in Ironi eternity I 

Suppose him, again, to sink in extreme old age ; 
to wear out, thread after thread, the clothing of 
mortality, while the mind has been growing con- 
stantly more and more eager to be on its u])ward 
way, when the perceptions of sense ha\e all been 
blunted, and the fountains of pleasure have almost 
all been closed. He looks back to the time when 
there was darkness upon the face of his country — 
when ^licrc was anxiety in every corner, and he 
joined cheerfully with those who labored with him 
to enlighten and save it ; and he has seen almost 
a new creation of power and beauty and happiness, 
spreading broader and broader with his years. He 
remembers the hymn that has been sung in the 
hour of worship, the faith that has been felt when 
darkness or light was over him, the good he has 
done and desired to do, from the first moment of 
action to the last ; and can sing the song of triumph 
over death, can smile at the last sun and the last 
moon that he expects to sec shine and set, can say, 
as his final assurance — " It is all — all finished." I 
hear such an one, in the stillness of midnight, catch 
and pronounce from the fragments of his memory — 
" Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy water 
spouts ; all thy waves and thy billows have gone 
over me. Yet the Lord will command liis loving 
kindness in the day time, and in the night his 
song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the 
God of my life.'"* I hear such an one affirming to 

^ • Psalm xlii, 7, 8. 



35 

me that the warm hand . should receive through its 
pulses the streams of a warm and benignant heart, 
and commanding, with all the graceful majesty of 
age, that friendship, temperance, piety and charity, 
only, approach him in his last and holy solitude, or 
be present at the mention of his name ; whose 
hope, that hope which animated him in the path of 
duty, and cheered him in the hour of difficulty, has 
been, and ever must be gladness! And if we 
would find a similar issue of this life — of the exer- 
tion of these immortal powers which we possess 
— of this state of being, which is of infinite im- 
portance chiefly because it may lead to momentous, 
infinite results, we shall imitate the life, the charac- 
ter of those who have found it. 

Children, 1 warn you, I beseech you to remem- 
ber that serious, solemn consequences are depend- 
ing on the habits you now form, the knowledge 
you may now obtain, the dispositions you now en- 
deavor, resolutely endeavor to possess and exercise. 
Do not hope for gladness — for peace in an hour 
which may soon come, unless you do always what 
you believe, what you know to be right. Remem- 
ber that your time is of unspeakable value ; that 
the instructions which you may now receive will be 
of unspeakable benefit : that your follies, your neg- 
lects, your sins, your ingratitude, may be attended 
with unspeakable grief; and that if you do all in 
your power — the half in your power — to obtain the 
blessing of God, whether you die as thousands are 
dying, by the side of your toys, and in the midst or 
at the end of your sports, or live to the good, the 
honored, the revered old age, you will find gladness. 



36 

Young men, ye who arc nobly devoted to the 
business ol' hfe, do not forget the hour of death. 
It is all unseen ; no earthly prophet can fix its date, 
no present health can stay its rushing wing. If 
you would hail it with gladness, think of it, but learn 
to think of it cheerfully, in the most busy scene of 
duty and enjoyment. If you have indulged in habits 
or practices which the soul condennis, and would 
in the end escape a burning, cleaving curse, stop — 
stop in your career ! Otherwise be assured — if ca- 
pable of descending to vices and resolved to perse- 
vere in follies, in sloth, impiety, injustice, revenge 
or cruelty — be assured that society, the world, the 
angels, on high, instead of welcoming you to glad- 
ness and glory at last, will "open their mouths wide 
against you, and sa} , Aha, aha, our eye hath seen 
it! "* You are on your way to the age of those who 
are sleeping in honor, whose virtues are embalmed 
in your generous afi'cctions. What were they at 
your years ? What did they in your circumstances ? 
Make them your exemplars and you shall share their 
honors. Their honors? Their rewards, their ex- 
perience in a higher world ! 

Fathers, the number of your sabbaths is lessening. 
A form, a venerable form has sunk behind you. 
God grant that your hope, like his, may be gladness. 
And to make it sure, cherish his spirit, imitate his 
meekness, trust in his God, the God of your fathers, 
the God of love. On one subject chiefli/ let your 
thoughts be fixed, and to one object onli/ let your 
cftbrts tend — to that rigiiteousness, faith, patience, 
gentleness, piety, which make the grey head indeed 
a crown of glory. 

'Psalm XXXV, 21. 



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